


a taste of beauty the world never expected

by Shadowcrawler



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pushing Daisies Fusion, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Christianity, Episode: s01e09 Repairs, F/F, Gen, Murder Mystery, Pie, Private Investigators, Skimmons Week, Stalking, Temporary Character Death, temporary animal death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26745193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowcrawler/pseuds/Shadowcrawler
Summary: The facts were these: Daisy the Piemaker had the chance to bring the girl she had loved back to life, and she took it.
Relationships: Jemma Simmons/Skye | Daisy Johnson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19
Collections: Bioquake Week 2020





	1. Pie-Lette

**Author's Note:**

> For Bioquake Week day 7, "coffee shop AU," and also for my Marvel Femslash Bingo card, the "barista AU" square. Again, playing extremely fast and loose with prompts, but I didn't want to do a straight coffee shop AU and this seemed more fun. Please read this story in Jim Dale's voice if possible.
> 
> Part 2 should be up within a few days, and it will contain an actual murder mystery loosely based on an early s1 SHIELD episode!
> 
>  **Content warnings** : Pushing Daisies is a show about death. As such, part 1 of this story contains: death of a parent, pet death (temporary), non-graphic murder by strangulation (temporary), references to parental abandonment and neglect, and a general sense of macabre. Part 2 will probably contain references to evangelical Christianity, description of at least one murder victim, possibly some references to lying by omission, and stalking (not by or of main characters). I did my best to keep the lighthearted tone of the show, but feel free to tap out if this isn't for you.

Daisy the Piemaker was eight years, seven months, eighty three days, and four minutes old when her dog Lincoln died.

It was merely one of the thousands of unlucky accidents that can happen to a single-minded dog, whose single-mindedness might cause him to ignore the sound of an oncoming truck as he ran into the road to retrieve a ball. The truck and its driver continued on, disinterested in the series of events that it had been partially responsible for orchestrating.

Daisy, who had already had a truly unfortunate amount of disappointment and loss in her relatively short life, did not cry when she saw Lincoln’s body. She had already learned that crying got her nothing but a dehydration headache and a lecture from her guardians. Instead, she reached out to see if she could try to pick up her friend to get him out of the road. 

But instead, the instant she touched Lincoln, something unexpected happened. He got up, quite unharmed, and wagged his tail, giving her a friendly doggy smile. 

And so the first part of Daisy’s extraordinary gift was revealed: if she touched a dead thing that had once been dead, it came back to life. She grabbed the ball and threw it away from the street, and Lincoln chased after it, and they continued that way for the rest of the afternoon. Then she went back home, where her current foster mother was baking apple pies for the impending Foster Families of America Papen County bake sale.

In front of the house across the street, Jemma Simmons, who was eight years, ten months, two hundred and six days, and twelve minutes old, was being chased through the sprinkler by a six foot one and a half inch tall shark wearing bright yellow swim trunks. Every time the shark caught her, he would scoop her up in his arms and hug her while growling ferociously, until she, squealing happily, managed to wriggle away, and the chase would begin anew. 

Daisy watched them through the window, wishing that any of the five foster fathers she’d had in her young life would have been interested in playing Sprinkler Shark with her. She had only known Jemma Simmons for the six months she’d lived in the town of Coeur d’Coeurs, but Jemma Simmons was the best friend she’d ever had. Not only that, but Jemma Simmons was the first person Daisy had ever loved. She wanted so badly to cross the street and join Jemma and her father, but Daisy’s current foster parents did everything on a very strict schedule, and Sprinkler Shark did not factor into their plans for a Sunday afternoon when there were apple pies to be made. 

“Daisy,” her foster mother said, “come away from the window and help me sift the flour.”

So Daisy, reluctantly, did, but she kept sneaking glances over her shoulder in the way that one does when one is in love and wants very badly to catch just one more glimpse of the object of one’s affections. It was during one of these stolen glances that her foster mother suffered a sudden brain aneurysm and collapsed dead on the floor. 

Daisy was too startled to scream. Lincoln came over and sniffed at the body. Daisy looked at him, and then touched her foster mother’s cheek.

“Jesus,” her foster mother said, getting up off the floor. “I must’ve slipped. Go on, keep sifting the flour, we’ve got a lot to get done today.”

Ten seconds went by, then thirty, then sixty. And on the sixty-first second, there was a sudden  _ thump _ from the house across the street as Jemma Simmons’ father suddenly dropped to the ground. This was the second part of Daisy’s gift: keep a dead thing alive for more than a minute, something else must die in its place.

“Oh my god,” Daisy’s foster mother shrieked, and ran out the door. Daisy ran after her and immediately went to Jemma’s side.

“He won’t wake up,” Jemma wailed into Daisy’s shoulder. Daisy hugged her with all her might and wished very hard to wake up in a world where things were different. But of course, she could not.

There was a third part of Daisy’s gift that she had yet to learn, and she learned it that night, in a truly unfortunate way. Her foster mother leaned down to give her a kiss goodnight (she had read somewhere in a book that this was what you were meant to do for children at bedtime, and so she did), and the second her lips touched Daisy’s cheek, she dropped to the floor, dead once again.

Daisy was alarmed, but feeling a bit of a veteran at dealing with death at this point, climbed out of bed and tapped her foster mother on the cheek. Then she did it again. And again. No response. And so she learned: first touch, life, second touch, dead again forever. 

It was decided, due to the unusual nature of the deaths, that a joint funeral was the best option. The community mourned both the friendly single father and the hyper-organized foster mother, and Daisy and Jemma sat together in the front row, holding hands and saying nothing. They had found out that Daisy was to be sent away to a group home, as her foster father was not equipped to care for a child by himself, and Jemma was to be sent to the other end of Coeur d’Coeurs, to be cared for by her aunts Peggy and Dottie. This would be the last day they would see each other. 

And so, dizzy with grief, curiosity and the first stirrings of young love, they slipped away for a moment alone and had their first kiss.

That evening, Daisy slipped out of the house to wave goodbye to Jemma as the car took her away to her aunts’ house. She watched Jemma’s small hand waving out the car window until the car went over a hill and out of sight, trying desperately to commit everything about her to memory. It would be the last time she would see Jemma Simmons alive.

\---

It’s nineteen years, twenty seven weeks, five days and fourteen minutes later, heretofore known as now. After being shuffled around to several more foster homes, Daisy set off into the world to make her own fortune and, having channeled her yearning for family and affection into a love of baking and a love of pies in particular, she has become the Piemaker. 

She owns the Pie Hole, a quaint dine-in pie shop and coffee house with an eye-catching pie crust roof and a cheery neon sign in loopy cursive, located on a particularly busy corner of a bustling metropolis. She bakes each day’s pies with love, craftsmanship and one special ingredient - once-rotten-now-alive-again fruit from a hidden storage room in the back of the restaurant. Pies from the Pie Hole, they say, have a bit of magic baked into them, and in this case the nebulous “they” are correct. 

At this moment, the Pie Hole’s single other employee, Daniel Sousa, is taking the order of one Melinda May, a private investigator who comes into the Pie Hole almost every morning to speak in hushed tones to Daisy. Unbeknownst to Daniel, this is because Melinda is the sole keeper of Daisy’s secret. 

“Every day I come in,” Daniel is saying cheerfully to Melinda, “I pick a pie to bake and I put all my love and positivity into it. I figure if I love it that much, other people will have to love it too. And y’know what? At the end of every day, that pie’s the one I’ve sold the most.”

Melinda raises an eyebrow, her face its customary mask of indifference. “Yeah? What pie did you love today?”

“Cherry delight,” he says, beaming hopefully at her.

“Gimme a slice of rhubarb,” Melinda grunts, which makes Daniel’s smile falter a little, but he nods and goes off to get it.

Daisy slides into the opposite side of the booth and gives Melinda an apprehensive look. “So what’s going on?” 

The Piemaker and the private investigator have a unique business arrangement. You see, while Melinda May has been involved in the PI business literally since she was born, and she does very much enjoy the satisfaction of a job well done and a case closed, she also very much enjoys reaping the financial benefits of her career. During a routine rooftop chase, her main suspect in an elder abuse case met an unfortunate end on the edge of the Pie Hole’s dumpster - for a moment, anyway, until the newly dead suspect bounced off the dumpster and into a startled Daisy’s reflexively raised hands. He was too startled to do anything but keep screaming as he had screamed while falling, and while Daisy was quick to re-dead him, Melinda was an unavoidable witness to the whole unfortunate affair.

As the Pie Hole was in something of a financial crisis at the time, Melinda proposed a partnership. After all, murders are much easier to solve if you can simply ask the victim whodunnit. Daisy reluctantly agreed, and thus Melinda ends up at the Pie Hole nearly every morning to discuss a case.

Today, however, they are between cases, and Melinda seems restless. “You seem restless,” Daisy says, noting the way Melinda is methodically twirling the pen she uses to take notes. Lincoln, who’s settled himself on the floor next to the booth, whines as if echoing Daisy’s apprehension.

“I am,” Melinda says. “I don’t like being between cases.”

Daisy is about to respond, but then something on the television hung in the corner of the restaurant catches her eye. A newscaster is standing in front of a very grand-looking cruise ship, next to a photo of a smiling brunette wearing a grey blazer.

“...police suspect foul play in the death of this young woman whose body was recovered from the ocean by employees of the SS Zephyr, a cruise ship bound for Tahiti. The ship’s captain has dismissed the death as an accident, saying that it is likely the woman accidentally fell overboard, possibly while intoxicated. However, foul play is suspected due to the state in which the body was recovered. We continue to bring you breaking news about the tragic death of Lonely Tourist Jemma Simmons…”

The world rotates on an axis, of course, but it does this so slowly that we cannot actually feel this happening. Still, to say that Daisy’s world shifts when she hears this name, while not technically or geographically accurate, is at the very least emotionally accurate.

Melinda notices Daisy’s obvious distress, but her attention is drawn to the broadcast for another reason: the potential for a new case. “I need to make a few calls,” she says, slipping outside.

Daniel sits down where Melinda had been sitting and looks at Daisy in concern. “You okay?” 

Daisy, clearly  _ not _ okay, gives herself a little shake. “I’m fine.” Lincoln whines again.

“You aren’t fine at all, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Daniel says. “Look, let me get you a slice of that cherry delight, okay? You work so hard, you deserve to have some of the fruits of your labor. I mean, in this case it’s my labor, but you get the idea.” He’s off before Daisy can respond. 

Melinda slides back into the booth a few minutes later. “You interested in spitting $50000?”

“How?” 

“There’s a reward for any information about this dead woman’s death. I think a killer’s name would be plenty of information.”

Daisy swallows. “Okay.” And, though she had no idea it was happening, her thoughts were beginning to turn like rats on a wheel. 

Not an hour later, they’re on their way to the nearby town of Coeur d’Coeur. “You know this girl?” Melinda asks.

“I know of her.”

“Know in what sense, exactly?” Melinda raises an eyebrow.

“Ew, not like  _ that _ . I knew her when I was eight. I haven’t thought of her since then.”

“Think of her a lot when you were eight?”

“I don’t remember anything from when I was eight,” Daisy lies. 

\---

The facts were these: Jemma Simmons, twenty eight years, sixteen weeks, five days, seventeen hours, and twenty four minutes old, was found floating in the ocean shortly after her body had been dumped overboard. Discarded by whom is a question that only Jemma Simmons can answer.

Daisy feels oddly numb during their journey to the funeral home. She felt numb when she saw the sign that said  _ WELCOME TO COEUR D’COEURS _ , in the exact place where she remembered it. She felt numb walking up the steps of the funeral home. She feels numb until she sees the large mahogany coffin in which the body of the girl she’d loved is lying, dead. 

“Um,” she says to Melinda. “Do you...can I do this one alone? Since she’s, y’know, and I...the whole personal history thing?”

Melinda looks at her suspiciously. “Suddenly remembered something from when you were eight, huh?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Daisy says. “I’d like some...closure.”

“What’s between you two that needs to be closed?”

“Long story,” Daisy says, waving her hand impatiently. “I need to...apologize for something. Something stupid I did, one of those things kids do ‘cause they don’t know any better. I’ll be quick, I swear.”

Melinda sighs. “Just make sure you ask who killed her. Don’t waste the minute.”

“I know.”

“Sixty seconds. Don’t waste it.”

“I won’t,” Daisy promises. Melinda, with a last disparaging look, leaves the room, and then it’s just Daisy and the coffin. Just Daisy and Jemma.

Daisy takes a deep breath, then lets it out. Finally, she walks over to the coffin and opens it. 

Dead bodies are not, as a whole, a particularly lovely sight. Daisy has seen a lot of dead bodies in the time she’s spent partnering with Melinda May. But they have always belonged to strangers, people who met with truly unfortunate ends who she talks to for one minute and then leaves to their non-existence. This body belongs to Jemma Simmons, who she has tried very hard not to think of, and who is just as beautiful as Daisy remembers her. 

But she can’t stand there staring at Jemma all day long, so Daisy considers where to touch her. The lips? No, too forward. The arm? Too impersonal. The cheek? Yes, that’s perfect. Before she can lose her nerve, she reaches out and taps Jemma’s cheek with a finger.

Jemma stirs and opens her warm brown eyes. Everything Daisy had been going to say, the apology for accidentally killing her father, the questions about Jemma’s killer, falls out of her head looking at the beautiful woman in front of her, waking up from death. But instead of the smile Daisy was hoping for, Jemma reaches out and yanks her forward, slamming her head on the coffin lid. 

“Ow!” Daisy yelps, clutching her head as Jemma scrambles out of the coffin. She looks around frantically, then grabs one of the folding chairs and brandishes it as if to hit Daisy again. “Jemma, wait!” Daisy gasps, shielding her head.

Jemma pauses. “What? Who are you?”

“Do you remember the girl who lived across the street for about six months when your dad died?”

Jemma, still looking very wary, thinks about this for a minute and then recognition spreads across her face like the sun after a rainstorm. “Daisy!” she says. “Of course I remember you, hello!” Then she glances around. “Where am I?”

“Uh, long story. Do you, uh, know what’s happening right now?”

Jemma furrows her brow. “No, but I’m glad you woke me. I was having a terrible dream that I was being strangled to death with a plastic sack.”

Daisy winces. “Um, that wasn’t a dream. You  _ were _ strangled to death with a plastic sack. Sorry, I didn’t really think about how to say it less awkwardly.”

Jemma blinks at her. “Oh.”

“You have a minute. Um, less, actually.”

Jemma looks even more confused, if that’s possible. “What am I meant to do with less than a minute?”

“How about, tell me who killed you so, y’know, we can catch your killer and justice can be served?”

“Oh. Well, that’s a lovely offer, but I’m afraid I don’t know who killed me.” Jemma shrugs. “I was reading a fascinating book about the tropical fish native to Tahiti and drinking a scotch on the rocks, and then I had to get up to get ice. Then I dropped my room key in the ice maker, and as I was thinking ‘how foolish of me-’”

Of course, as she was thinking, “how foolish of me,” Jemma was strangled to death with a plastic sack. 

“-and then I felt you touch my cheek, and here I am,” Jemma says. She smiles at Daisy. “I’m certainly glad I got to see you again, Daisy.”

Daisy’s about to reply, but just then there’s a loud knock on the door. “Almost done in there?” Melinda calls. “Funeral director’s got things to do.”

“Just a second!” Daisy calls. For, of course, seconds are all the time she has left.

“Oh, is my time up?” Jemma looks disappointed, but resigned.

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing Daisy can think to say.

“Well, thank you,” Jemma says. “Seeing you again makes me remember that summer we had together, the last summer I had with my father. I think that’s a nice last thought.”

Daisy opens her mouth to try and respond. “You...when we...I used to...I had a cru...you were my first kiss,” she says, all in a rush.

“Really?” Jemma beams, then looks a little shy. “You were mine too.”

An idea occurs to Daisy. “I could be your last kiss. First and last?” She shakes her head. “Sorry, that’s  _ really _ weird.”

“No, it isn’t, it’s lovely. It’s like bookends.” 

So they lean in close, Daisy preparing to watch the girl she loved die for good this time. And perhaps it’s cowardice, selfishness, or something else entirely that keeps her lips from touching Jemma’s. Perhaps it’s merely an instinct, like the one that made her kiss Jemma the first time. But either way, her lips can go no further.

And with that choice, she sets the rest of her life in motion.

Jemma opens her eyes, looking baffled and a little hurt. “Well, if you didn’t want to kiss me, that’s perfectly fine, I just thought-”

“No, no, that’s not…I want...” Daisy swallows. “What if you didn’t have to be...dead?”

“I would prefer that,” Jemma says, still confused. “But how-”

“I can come back later with a plan to get you out,” Daisy says, pointing toward the coffin. “Get back in and lie really still and quiet and I’ll come back for you.”   
  


“How dashing,” Jemma half-jokes, climbing in. 

And so, in the dead of night, Daisy follows the hearse to the graveyard and lights the workers’ truck on fire to keep them preoccupied while she retrieves a very alive and relieved Jemma from the coffin. 

Back in Daisy’s apartment above the Pie Hole, sweetened with a slice of frozen key lime, she tells Jemma about her gift. Or rather: she tells everything except that she was the cause of her father’s death. 

“Oh goodness,” Jemma says, rubbing her neck. “That’s...quite a lot to take in. So I can’t even hug you?”   
  


“Not really,” Daisy says with a sheepish shrug. “I’m sorry.”

“But what if you need a hug? You certainly look like you could use one now.”

“I’m not much of a hugger. I’ll be okay.”

“And no kissing either then?” 

As Jemma asks this question, Daisy is staring at her lips and noticing how very soft they look. She takes a second to snap out of those thoughts. “Sorry, I got...distracted.”

“Am I that distracting?” Jemma smiles.

“Kind of,” Daisy says a little shyly. “You’re just...really here. It’s a lot to take in.”

“For me as well. I always thought…” Jemma trails off, then starts again. “I thought maybe someday we’d meet again. You know how you imagine you’re part of a movie and you’ll meet important people in your life again? I used to dream of meeting you again sometimes.”

“I did too,” Daisy confesses. “And this wasn’t…I wasn’t like lying in wait for you to turn up dead so I could un-dead you or anything. I didn’t really think about it. I just did it. Or, I guess, didn’t do it.”

Lincoln, roused by the human voices, trots in and lays his head in Jemma’s lap.

“Oh, hello,” Jemma says, giving him a scratch behind the ears. “Who’s this? He looks just like your old dog Lincoln.”

“This is Lincoln.”

Jemma’s mouth falls open, and she looks more closely at the dog. “So he’s...did you…?” When Daisy nods, she asks, “So you can’t touch him either?”

“Not directly, but we find a way.” Daisy picks up the petting stick she’s made and uses it to pet Lincoln’s back. “Anyway, I’m sorry to be a bad hostess but lighting a hearse on fire and then rescuing a girl from a coffin really takes it out of you. You can have my bed for the night, I’ll take the couch.”

“That’s very polite of you,” Jemma says, as Daisy curls up on the couch. The last thing she hears before she shuts her eyes is Jemma saying very quietly, “I’d kiss you if it wouldn’t kill me again.”


	2. Make You Feel My Dove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a loose reworking of AOS 1x09 "Repairs." Also, I feel kind of bad for making Daniel the unrequited love character, but I think he fits better than Deke as Olive, so here we are. Sorry, Daniel, not your fault.

At this very moment in the town of North Thrush, young Daisy is sitting in church. As is the case with most children sitting in church, this was not originally her idea, but rather the idea of her guardians. For now, her guardians are the nuns at Saint Agnes Orphanage, as after two months with the Friendly Group Group Home, it had been decided that she was “not a good fit.” So for now, she has returned to the orphanage, which means that every Sunday henceforth is to be spent in prayer and supplication. 

In young Daisy’s case, religion interests her in much the same way as the oatmeal the nuns serve every morning for breakfast: it is merely a part of her routine, a bland but inoffensive experience that she’s told will provide her with nourishment. One of the youngest nuns, Sister McKenna, has taken a liking to the young girl and explained very patiently to her that God is love, the thing that brings us together. Daisy, having had a less than satisfactory experience with love as a general concept, is less than impressed by this explanation. However, she has decided to give God a trial period.

This morning, the pastor is speaking on the power of prayer in one’s life, and how one can use it to benefit oneself and others. This seems more than a bit unbelievable to Daisy, as several foster families have attempted to instill the habit of nightly prayers into her (as well as the nuns). The only thing she learned from the experience was how to appear to be engaged so as to placate the adults around her. The pastor is telling the story of Hannah, who pleaded with the Lord to give her a son, and how in the end Hannah’s son Samuel became a great prophet. 

Daisy does not want a son, of course. But what she does want is a friend. So, in the interest of experimenting, she closes her eyes and prays, _Please send me a friend_.

What Daisy does not realize is that, independently of her religious experiment to test the power of prayer, another power is driving someone she loves to find her. 

Lincoln, who was left behind in the commotion of trying to find Daisy yet another foster home, has been searching for the girl he loves for three days. Drawn by a sense of loyalty and love for his mistress and guided only by the compass of his heart, he has crossed the town of Coeur d’Coeur and is currently entering the town of North Thrush. 

Lincoln manages to dodge several well-meaning but unhelpful North Thrusians trying to coax him from his mission, a nearsighted bike messenger, and a larger and nastier street dog who feels that every place he is counts as his territory. Finally, he arrives at his destination: a pleasant but mostly nondescript white chapel. He sits in front of the door and waits.

Inside, Daisy listens to the rest of the sermon, still skeptical of the entire affair. Once the final benediction is given, the congregation stands and begins to mill about in various social configurations. The nuns collect the children and begin to file out of the chapel. 

Daisy’s eyes take a moment to adjust to the bright sunlight outside after having been in the muted light of the chapel. She blinks and covers her eyes, then, spotting a familiar shape, drops her hand and stares. Lincoln is sitting there, giving her a big doggy smile. 

Girl and dog run to each other, then stop suddenly, both remembering the strange condition of their friendship. Still, they both understood that the comfort of simply seeing someone you love in front of you is a comfort beyond words.

And this is precisely how Daisy feels every morning when she opens her eyes and sees Jemma sleeping in the other bed. While she wants very badly to go over and kiss the girl she loves until she wakes up, this is not an option. Instead, she marvels at the incredible coalescence of events which led her to be here this morning, watching Jemma sleep. 

Jemma blinks awake, then, upon seeing Daisy watching her, smiles sleepily. “Are you watching me sleep?”

Daisy, embarrassed, stammers, “Uh, not on purpose. I mean, I was waiting for you to actually wake up and while waiting I kind of accidentally watched you sleep a little. Not like in a creepy way, I swear. But, yeah, technically.”

Jemma doesn’t seem bothered. “You do that a lot, hm?”

“It’s like watching you come back to life,” Daisy says, feeling a little shy at admitting her secret thought. 

“That’s sweet,” Jemma says, sitting up and stretching. She makes a noise that reminds Daisy of a kitten. “Well, let’s go get breakfast started, eh, Lincoln?” The dog, curled up at the foot of Daisy’s bed, wags his tail and follows her out into the kitchen. 

In the days since Daisy alive-agained Jemma, she’s been adjusting to having a roommate. In her adult life, Daisy has only lived with a roommate twice before, and kept them both strictly at arm’s length. If you were to ask her former roommates, they would say that living with Daisy was much like living with a polite but reclusive ghost. Daisy is used to staying out of the way and keeping to herself. That she _likes_ having Jemma around, even if they aren’t directly interacting, has taken her quite by surprise.

Jemma is accustomed to living with two housebound, neurotic aunts, but she is extremely good at keeping herself occupied. During her first life, she spent most of her time reading and learning about everything she could. She can tell you everything about which species of tropical fish were native to which oceans, and how to examine DNA samples for a genetic match or similarity, and exactly how bacteria cultivates on food that is improperly stored. She can carry on a conversation in Spanish, German, and French, and was in the middle of learning Russian and Japanese as well prior to leaving for the cruise on which she met her unfortunate end. She has already started dipping into Daisy’s comparatively small book collection. She thinks nothing of curling up in a chair reading while Daisy watches television or plays video games. 

Their new arrangement has not escaped the notice of Daniel, who, it must be said, has never been anything less than respectful, professional, and pleasant with Daisy. However, it would not be inaccurate to say that he wishes very much that their relationship was quite a bit _less_ professional, and pleasant in a different sort of way. He lives in the second apartment above the Pie Hole, and often wishes that it would not be seen as unusual for him to go over and knock on Daisy’s door, perhaps to offer a cup of tea or a quiet evening together taking in a film. This gentle fantasy has sustained him for quite some time, although he has never been quite brave enough to attempt to fulfill it. So it was quite a shock when, several days before, he’d left his apartment at the same time as Daisy and waved and smiled at her as always - only to watch another woman that he didn’t know follow her out, and give Daisy just the sort of look that he’s been giving her for the past two years. Daisy had waved back at him, and so did the new girl, and, heart quickly becoming acquainted with his shoes, he had headed downstairs. It wasn’t until a bit later that he realized that he recognized her from somewhere - and therefore, he has been wrestling with the secret that Lonely Tourist Jemma Simmons appears to be quite alive.

This morning, Daniel is already downstairs, wiping down the counters. “Morning,” Daisy chirps at him, heading into the kitchen to begin the morning baking. “Jemma, can you help him start opening?”

“Of course!” Jemma smiles at Daniel. “What should I do?”

“Uh...here.” Daniel hands her the spray bottle and rag. “Daisy, you sure you don’t need my help with the pies?”

“Not yet, thanks,” Daisy calls over her shoulder. 

“Okay.” Daniel sighs and starts checking the menus for any stains. “So,” he says, adopting the sort of casual tone that one might use to begin a covert interrogation, “Jemma, you’ve moved in with Daisy, huh?”

“Yes,” Jemma says quickly, because she and Daisy have already come up with a story to explain this. “We’ve been seeing each other long-distance and I was finally able to move here to be with her.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow. “Huh,” he says. “Where did you live before?”

“Oh, Hampstead,” Jemma says. Her father had always told her that her mother had grown up in Hampstead, so Jemma has subsequently done quite a lot of reading about the area. She has read enough mystery novels to know that it is important to pepper your lies with just enough detail, but not too much. “It’s a nice place, but I’d been planning on moving here anyway, and then I met Daisy online, and well, one thing led to another, you know how it is.” 

“Nice.” Daniel scrubs at an imaginary stain. “Y’know, you look really familiar. I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

“Oh, I just have one of those faces,” Jemma says with a nervous laugh. “I hear that a lot.”

“Hmm.” Daniel tilts his head. “Y’know, I’ll have to think about who you remind me of. Maybe I saw her on TV?”

Jemma smiles, finishing the last of the tables and then gathering up the spray bottle and rag. “Perhaps,” she says, and her smile has just a hint of desperation. “I’m going to go and make sure the bathrooms are in order, if that’s alright.”

“Sure, sure.” 

Jemma decides to follow the wise adage that her Aunt Dottie was so fond of saying, and make like a tree and leave. She makes sure every last inch of the bathroom is sparkling clean and does not emerge until Melinda May arrives for the morning debrief. 

“So what have we got?” she asks, sliding into the seat across from her. 

Melinda raises an eyebrow. “ _We_ don’t have anything. Daisy and I have a case. Who said you were included?”

Jemma makes an expression most commonly associated with kittens in a pet shop window. “Actually, she might be handy to have around for this,” Daisy says, sliding in next to her (but careful to sit at the other end of the bench). “She’s read a lot of books, like a _lot._ She might have some knowledge that we don’t.” 

Jemma nods eagerly. “I’ve amassed a great deal of knowledge on a wide variety of topics,” she chirps. “What’s the scoop?”

Melinda sighs. “Fine. Here’s the...scoop.” She says the word as if it came into her house and had an accident on the carpet. 

The facts were these: Pastor Jack Benson was the head of a small but devoted congregation at Life’s Way Way of Life Church. He was known amongst his parishoners as unfailingly kind-hearted, generous, and devoted to the wellbeing of his community. Pastor Benson wanted his church to become a true safe haven for any who needed it, and a beacon of love and acceptance for all. However, the night before, he had been alone in the church, working late in his office, when he had gone into the chapel to pray. This morning, one of the church elders had found him slumped over the altar, bludgeoned to death. 

“The police are offering a reward for whoever has information on his killer,” May says, taking a sip of her tea. “So we’d better get over to the morgue.”

“That’s horrible!” Jemma says, eyes wide. “I mean, I’m very aware of the institutional issues within many churches, of course, but I’ve never heard a word against Pastor Benson or Life’s Way Way of Life. They hold community dinners every Saturday night! I always thought it might be nice to go, but Aunt Dottie was sure it was all a ruse to get us to listen to a sermon, so we never did.”

“I haven’t set foot in a church since I was ten,” Daisy says, wrinkling her nose. “Are we gonna have to like, do communion?”

“Hope not,” Melinda says. “They don’t even give you wine anymore.”

At the morgue, the pastor’s body is lying face-up, and his face looks like it’s lost a violent disagreement with something heavy. “Gross,” Daisy says, poking him on the cheek.

The pastor’s eyes pop open and he screeches “Jesus Christ!” Then he raises his heads up as if to protect his face. 

“Afraid not,” Daisy says with an awkward wave. “Uh, hi, Pastor Benson.”

Benson gasps, but because his nose is a bit bashed in, it makes an odd whistling noise. “What happened? Where am I?”

“The morgue, I’m afraid,” Daisy says. “Sorry, I just need literally a minute. You were hit in the face with something, do you know who did it?”

“Oh no!” he says, looking as dismayed as one can with about three quarters of a working face. “I’m dead? But we have the raffle to benefit new and expectant single mothers next week and I haven’t finished coordinating all the prizes yet. Oh, I hate to think Hannah will have to take on yet another task, she’s so overloaded already-”

“Who’s Hannah?” Jemma asks, earning her an annoyed look from Melinda. 

“She’s my assistant, my second-in-command,” Benson says, beaming. ‘That girl has a real heart for God. Always volunteering to take on more, always paying attention to those who need it most - she’s a real blessing. I don’t know what we’d do without her. I just wish I could pay her more, but it’s out of my control, really, I-”

Daisy coughs pointedly. “Do you know who killed you, pastor?”

He blinks, startled. “Yes, of course I do. It was the Holy Spirit. I was praying in the chapel, and then I was struck by the Holy Spirit. I didn’t expect it to feel quite so violent, but-”

“Great,” Daisy sighs, because the minute is up, and taps him dead again. “Do you think I’m going to hell for that?” she asks Melinda and Jemma.

“I think we have bigger problems right now,” Melinda says. “And someone named Hannah to visit.”

\---

Hannah turns out to be a sweet-faced blonde twenty two-year-old who begins weeping inconsolably when they tell her why they’re there. “They told me this morning. I just can’t believe he’s gone,” she gasps. “I don’t know how we’ll run the church without him.” The white pitbull who has been at her heels from the second she opened the door lays its head in her lap, as if to console her.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Melinda says. “You worked with him, didn’t you?” 

Hannah nods, sniffling. “I’m technically his assistant, but we both hate that term, so he calls me his second-in-command instead. Oh,” she says, noticing the tense issue. “I, I meant he called me that.” Her lip wobbles again. 

“So what exactly do you do at the church?” Daisy asks, in hopes that that will keep her from bursting into tears again.

“Oh, pretty much everything,” Hannah says with a little laugh. “Officially, I just run the youth program, but he had so much going on and not a lot of staff, so I took on as much as I could to help out. I organize the weekly dinners and oversee praise band practice and do VBS in the summer. Oh, and sometimes I do counseling services when Jack doesn’t have the time. I was thinking about maybe going back to school to become a therapist, but that’ll have to wait.” She sighs. 

“Why?” 

Hannah looks embarrassed. “I don’t have the money. Not that I need money to do this job, I love it, and I believe in the work that we do, but I’m just barely getting by each month. I believe that God will provide for me when it’s time for me to go back to school.” She gives them a brave little smile. “Until then, He wants me to stay with the church and help people that way.”

“I see,” says Melinda, taking some notes. “But Pastor Benson wanted to pay you more?”

Hannah blinks. “Yes, how did you know that?”

“We heard about how generous he was,” Daisy says quickly, “and why wouldn’t he want to reward his second-in-command? You were clearly really important to him.”

Tears gather in Hannah’s eyes again and she swipes them away. “Yes,” she says, “he - he was always trying to do little things to thank me for all my hard work. Sometimes he would bring me lunch, or buy me dinner if we were there working late. He took care of most of the vet bill when Luke needed knee surgery.” She idly pets the pitbull, who stares up at her adoringly. “It helped, it really did. Last Christmas he gave me this beautiful sculpture!” She points to an elegant stone effigy of a dove that’s displayed on one of her bookshelves. 

“But he couldn’t raise your salary,” Melinda says. She and Daisy exchange thoughtful glances.

“No. But that isn’t his fault,” Hannah says quickly. “And it isn’t the finance committee’s fault either, really. I’d rather the money we make go towards helping the community. This is just a test of patience, and God rewards patience.” 

“Yes,” Jemma says with a nod. “So you don’t know of anyone who might have held a grudge against Pastor Benson?”

Hannah sniffles and thinks for a minute. “No,” she says finally. “He was such a kind man, always trying to do what was best for others. I don’t know who could have been angry at him. Did they really find him _in_ the chapel?” Her lip wobbles again.

“I’m afraid so,” Jemma says, patting her on the shoulder. 

She blows her nose and then says, “I know you have to go, but would you mind if I prayed for you?”

Melinda rallies to keep her face neutral. “Sure.”

“Well,” Daisy says once outside, “normally I’d suspect the underpaid assistant of killing her boss out of a grudge, but I don’t think that girl even knows what ‘grudge’ means.”

“We can’t rule her out,” Melinda cautions, “but let’s look into that finance committee.”

\---

This proves to be a more difficult task than anticipated. Two of the five members are out of town, one they have to leave a message for with a less-than-thrilled spouse, and the fourth (Frank Delacourt) has moved two towns away and is very irritated to find out that he is still included in the church directory. Finally, Arlene Willoughby agrees to meet with them for an interview. 

Arlene Willoughby is a pleasant-natured woman in her mid-30s who serves on the financial board in between her day job as an accountant and her weekends spent as an amateur rock climber. She also has a fondness for cats and has seven of them.

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Arlene says, as a particularly determined orange tabby kitten tries to climb up Melinda’s leg for the third time since they arrived. “He’s still learning how to behave around humans, aren’t you, Tiberius?” She picks up the kitten and coos at him. 

“Ms. Willoughby,” Jemma says, because she can see that Melinda is trying very hard not to snap at her, “we’ve come to verify some information about the church’s finances. We talked to Hannah Hutchins and she said that Pastor Benson had petitioned to raise her salary, but that the committee rejected it. Is that true?”

Arlene sighs. “I’m afraid so. I know that little gal deserves to get paid more, but it just really wasn’t in the budget. I know Jack was gonna argue for it again now that Frank’s left us, but obviously that won’t happen.”

“Frank Delacourt?” Daisy asks. A large white cat curled up in her lap the second she sat down and is currently napping. She pets it idly. “Yeah, we spoke to him. He was pretty pissed - I mean, ticked off that he hasn’t been taken out of the church directory yet.”

Arlene rolls her eyes. “God bless and keep Frank Delacourt far away from me. That man never understood the point of a church, if you ask me. Always arguing that we ought to allocate more of the budget to fancier equipment or better staff retreats...I sure don’t miss him.”

“So he quit?” 

“Oh yeah, he stormed into Jack’s office a couple weeks ago and announced that he was sick and tired of getting walked all over, and he was done with all of it. Then he moved out last week, broke his lease, and screwed his roommate over real good in the process.” 

Daisy winces. “Yikes. All that over one raise?”

Snorting, Arlene shakes her head. “I don’t mean to talk out of school here, but I think Frank wanted what Jack had. He was a highly respected man, with a lot of say in how things were done around here. Frank’s not the brightest, but he always thought he was better than all of us. I think he really wanted to be one of those megachurches you see around, but that’s really not what we’re about. So I guess he’s gone off to see if he can find one of those to work for. Good luck and good riddance, I say.”

“You mentioned a roommate,” Jemma says. “Would that be someone we could talk to?”

“Oh, Tobias? Yeah, you could try it, I guess. He’s a bit of an odd duck, kind of keeps to himself, but not a bad guy. I think he’s just shy. Should be in the church directory under ‘Ford.’ He’s one of the janitors.”

“Thanks, Arlene,” Jemma says, grinning over at Daisy and Melinda. 

“Yes,” Melinda says, reaching down to extract Tiberius from her pant leg again. “You were very...helpful.”

\---

Melinda’s used to dealing with reluctant interviewees, so it’s decided that she and Daisy will try contacting Frank Delacourt again while Jemma calls on Tobias Ford. 

Frank, who picked up after six calls and two messages, seems less than thrilled. “I told you,” he snaps into the phone, “I don’t wanna talk about anything to do with that church!” 

“Mr. Delacourt,” Melinda says, cutting him off. “You should know we’re currently investigating a murder case and you are a person of interest.”

Frank is quiet for a long moment. “You guys cops?”

“No, Mr. Delacourt. We’re simply private investigators interested in finding out the truth. And we’d like to see if you have any ideas about who killed Jack Benson. I can involve the police, but I think we’d both prefer that I didn’t. I think you’d rather just talk to us and then be on your way.”

Frank makes a noise of pure exasperation. “Fine. Are we talking here or d’you need me to meet you somewhere?”

“We’ll come to you. It won’t take much of your time. Does three o’clock work for you? And can I confirm your address?”

Jemma, meanwhile, is knocking on the apartment of one Tobias Ford. After a few firm knocks, the door opens a tiny crack and a gruff voice says, “Whaddaya want?”

“Mr. Ford?” Jemma asks, trying for bright and friendly and teetering right on the edge of robotic. “My name is Jemma Simmons and I’m a private investigator looking into the death of Pastor Jack Benson. Do you have a-”

The door slams. Jemma frowns, squares her shoulders, and then knocks again. “Mr. Ford? I’m not police. I’m here to talk to you about your former roommate, Frank Delacourt.” 

Tobias doesn’t reply. Jemma knocks again, deciding to appeal to the man’s sense of pettiness rather than takin a strictly businesslike approach. “Mr. Ford, please, we believe we have information that may implicate your former roommate in Mr. Benson’s death and I need to confirm some things with you.”

At that, Tobias opens the door a crack again. “What d’you wanna know about that son of a bitch?”

“Just a few things. Could I come in, please?”

Tobias opens the door. He’s in his 40s, white, with the sort of hair that birds would happily make a home in if permitted, and a tendency to glance about the room nervously if he’s being spoken to. “C’mon in,” he says awkwardly. 

“Thank you.” The apartment is sparse and small, but sort of homey in a worn way. The only visible decorations are a small stone statue of a dove, which reminds Jemma of something she can’t quite place, and a couple of small plants scattered around. Jemma settles herself on one of the worn but reasonably comfortable chairs and waits for him to sit as well. “Mr. Ford, you’re employed as a janitor at Life’s Way Way of Life Church, correct?”

Tobias looks confused. “Sure, been there for a few years. It’s not much, but it’s honest work.” He laughs a little. “It’s okay. Mostly.” The corner of his lip curls up, just slightly. 

“Yes. We were told that you used to live with Frank Delacourt, who was a member of the church’s financial committee, until recently. Can you tell us how that happened?”

Tobias swallows. “Frank always thought he was better than everybody. Me especially. He really hated that I was the only person who could move in with him and he kept away from me as much as possible. Snobby bastard.” He snorts. “Good riddance.”

“He sounds very difficult to live with,” Jemma says sympathetically. 

“Damn right! They’re all snobs. They think they’re helping people when mostly they’re just slapping a band-aid on a problem and making themselves feel good for it. Frank at least never pretended. Most of ‘em don’t talk to me on Sunday mornings, y’know? Just ‘cause I clean the toilets and mop the floors.” He shakes his head. 

“I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that treatment. Now, about Frank-”

“She doesn’t act like that,” Tobias interrupts. His face softens and becomes something entirely different as he speaks, something that could perhaps be called loving. “She’s always nice to me. Always smiling and asking how I’m doing, always wanting to know if she can do anything for me. She’s the only good person in that whole damn church.”

Jemma frowns. “Do you mean Hannah?”

“Oh, you’ve met her?” he asks, his eyes bright. “Isn’t she great?”

“Yes,” Jemma agrees with a smile. “Very sweet. So, about Frank-”

“She does so much for the church,” Tobias interrupts. “Even more than Benson. He takes all the credit, but it’s really her that does all the important stuff..”

“Hannah certainly seems very important to the church. And to you,” Jemma says, correctly assessing that Tobias would rather talk about the woman he was very obviously infatuated with rather than his former snobbish roommate. Perhaps allowing Tobias to direct the conversation for a few minutes will help him to trust her. “Have you told her how much she means to you?”

At that, Tobias shrinks a little. “Oh, I dunno,” he says sheepishly. “I don’t think she’d want anything to do with me.”

“You might try it sometime,” Jemma says. “The worst she could do is say no.”

Tobias shakes his head. “I don’t wanna think about that.”

“Alright. Well, back to Frank, do you know what made him so angry that he would quit?”

Snorting, Tobias says, “He was always bitching about how the church spent money. Wanted to turn it into some soulless megachurch, make the outsides match the insides. And then next thing you know, it’s staff turnover and who’s the first to go? Me, that’s who.”

“So you must be glad he’s gone, then,” Jemma suggests.

Tobias grunts. “Glad to see the back of him, but he left so quick I had to scrape together enough to cover his share of rent. If I never see him again it’ll be too soon.”

“Understandable,” nods Jemma. “So...his grudge against Pastor Benson was personal?”

“Could be. Frank sure didn’t like Benson. Pretty much the only times we got along was bitching about him.” Tobias smirks. “I didn’t have nothin’ against the pastor, mind. No more than you do against your boss. Just blowin’ off steam once in a while.”

Jemma is suddenly struck by the realization that, in all her twenty eight years of living, she has never had a boss. Aunts Peggy and Dottie, being reclusive heiresses, had no need to work, and while Jemma worked at improving her mind and did some volunteer work over the telephone, she had never been an employee or had a real job. She suspects Tobias will not find this factoid particularly compelling, so instead she commits to the white lie and says, “Yes, I understand perfectly.”

Tobias gives her a searching look. “So you think Frank really went and offed him, huh?”

“We’re still gathering evidence,” Jemma says breezily. “Frank moved out last week, correct?” 

“Yeah. I went to work at five AM last Tuesday, and when I came back in the afternoon his room was totally empty. Didn’t even leave a note, damn coward.”

“And you haven’t heard from him since then?”

“He blocked my number.” Tobias huffs. “Bastard.”

\---

Daisy and Melinda, meanwhile, are having a most illuminating conversation with one Frank Delacourt. 

“Yeah, we only lived together ‘cause I couldn’t find anybody else. Tobias is a real weird guy. I mean like _real_ weird, like ‘bodies in the fridge’ kind of weird. Nobody at church really likes him. I think Benson just hired him ‘cause he felt sorry for him. He kind of lurks on the edges of everything, y’know? Hated being in the apartment with him, I was gone as much as I could be.”

“When you say ‘bodies in the fridge,’ you don’t mean that literally,” Melinda deadpans.

Frank shrugs, taking a swig of his beer. “Probably not. You never know though.”

“Can you be a little more specific?” Daisy asks.

“Well, he was obsessed with Benson’s assistant. Harley? Hope? Henna?”

“Hannah,” Melinda says. Daisy can tell from her clipped tone that she’s quickly losing patience with Frank.

“Yeah. Cute little blonde thing, not my usual type, but nice. He talked about her all the time, even had a few pictures he took of her scattered around. Real weird stalker shit. Never got the balls to talk to her himself, but every time she talked to him I got an earful about it afterwards. Like, Jesus, just ask her out and get rejected already so you can drink away your pain.”

Daisy wrinkles her nose. “Did she know about any of this?”

“Nope. Like I said, he never talked to her unless she talked first. Too nice for her own good, that’s what I say. If she just told him to buzz off, maybe he wouldn’t have got so weird about it.” Frank rolls his eyes. “Anyway, glad I don’t have to deal with any of those assholes anymore.”

“About those assholes,” Daisy says quickly, “we were told you disagreed with the rest of the committee about how to use church finances, is that right?”

“Yeah.” Frank raises an eyebrow. “That’s not a crime, is it? I was trying to be realistic. Life’s Way was stagnating. I told them we needed to update and innovate if we wanted to bring in more attendees. They wanted to keep holding hands and singing Kumbaya with any charity case that walked in the door. I got sick of watching them throw money into a bottomless pit of need. They couldn’t even pay that girl enough to keep doing all she’s doing, how did Benson think they were gonna save the world?”

“Yes, Hannah’s salary comes up a lot,” Melinda says. “Can you confirm who came to you with the proposal to give her a raise?”

“Benson, who else?” Frank scoffs. “If you ask me, he was a little _too_ interested in that girl. Always having her over for late meetings, sometimes the only ones in the building…” He clicks his tongue. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the _only_ reason she stuck around. She’s sure not making enough to stay in that nice place of hers.”

Daisy and Melinda exchange glances. “Are you saying Hannah and Jack Benson were in a romantic relationship?” Daisy asks.

Frank gives them an animated shrug. “Who’m I to say, y’know? Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Melinda looks at Daisy with the sort of look that means “you’ll be following up on that later” and says, “That’s interesting. Did you share this suspicion with Tobias?”

“You kidding me? I didn’t wanna be in the line of fire! He would’ve gone nuts if he thought she was seeing anybody.”

“You don’t say,” Melinda murmurs, scribbling this down. “Do you think maybe he might have _killed_ Pastor Benson over this, if he had known?”

“Is this off the record?”

“There’s no official record,” Melinda says, with barely-disguised disdain. 

“Fine. Well, I just know he was about two steps away from keeping her in the basement. I wouldn’t put it past him. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

“One last question,” Daisy says. “Can you tell us where you were yesterday evening between six and eleven PM?”

Frank looks annoyed. “Hey, I told you all I know.”

“It’s a formality,” Melinda says with a very dangerous smile. 

“Fine, fine. I was at a movie for part of that and then I came home around ten and jerked off and went to bed. My window’s four stories off the ground and the only way out is the lobby, which has 24/7 video going. You wanna check my internet history just in case?” He smirks at them.

Daisy curls her lip. “I think we’re good, thanks.”

\---

They swing by to pick up Jemma and then loop back to Hannah’s apartment, comparing notes on the way. “Tobias is certainly odd,” Jemma says, “but he seems convinced Frank must have done it, because Frank disliked Pastor Benson so much.”

“And Frank says Tobias might have killed Benson out of jealousy.” Melinda sighs. “I think he’s making it up, but we should follow up on it.”

“I _hope_ he’s making it up,” Daisy says, making a face. 

Hannah seems surprised, but not displeased, to see them. “Did you need anything else from me? I have some pasta cooking and I wasn’t planning on guests but I can throw some more in if you all want to stay for dinner.” Luke the pitbull, as usual, sticks close to her, tail wagging ever so slightly.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Daisy says quickly. “We just have a few more questions, it won’t take long.”

Once inside, Melinda gets down to business. “We talked with Frank Delacourt earlier,” she says. 

“Oh, is he doing okay? I worried about him when he left so suddenly. I know he wasn’t very popular at Life’s Way, but he’s got a lot going on in his life so I always tried to be nice to him.”

“He’s fine,” Melinda says. “He told us something very interesting. Can you tell us what exactly your relationship to Pastor Benson was?”

Hannah frowns. “What do you mean? We were coworkers - well, he was my boss, really. It didn’t feel like that, though. And we were good friends.”

“Are you sure?” Daisy asks gently. “Frank Delacourt seemed to think you guys were, uh, _involved_.”

“What?” Hannah’s eyes go wide. “No! Nothing inappropriate happened between us! Jack would never - and neither would I! We spent a lot of time together because we were working, and he did nice things for me sometimes, like I told you earlier, but he _never_ said or did anything like that.” Luke whines at her distress, burrowing against her leg.

“We believe you,” Jemma says quickly, before Hannah can get any more worked up. “We just needed to cover every angle.”

“There was nothing going on between us,” Hannah insists. “I can’t believe people would think that of me, or of him!” She shakes her head. “Will you excuse me a moment? I need to go check on the pasta?”

“Of course,” Melinda says, then once she’s left, she glances at Daisy. “So much for that.”

Daisy sighs. “What the hell do we do now?”

Jemma glances around the room, feeling as if there’s a word just on the tip of her tongue. Something is digging at the edges of her mind, if she could only figure out what... “Wait a moment!” she yelps, pointing at Hannah’s bookshelf. “That dove statue, I saw one just like it in Tobias’ apartment.”

“Wait, really?” Daisy raises both eyebrows. “That’s weird.”

Jemma stands up and runs into the kitchen. “Hannah, why did Pastor Benson give you that dove sculpture? Does it mean anything?”

Hannah, startled, stammers, “I - I mean, doves in the New Testament represent the Holy Spirit. God used a dove to show that Jesus was His son. Jack had one in his office and I, I thought it was so beautiful, that’s my favorite Bible story, and Jack got me the same statue so I’d have a nice reminder of how much God loves us.”

“Thank you!” Jemma says, throwing her arms around Hannah. She then runs back out to tell Daisy and Melinda.

“Oh my god,” Daisy says. “So when Pastor Benson said he was struck by the Holy Spirit-”

“-he was struck by the stone dove, which was in Tobias Ford’s hand,” Melinda finishes, narrowing her eyes. “Bet if they took a good look at that dove he’s got, they’d find evidence of the kind of cleaning you’d need to do to remove blood.”

“The kind of cleaning a janitor would probably know how to do,” Daisy adds. “Oh my god, Tobias Ford murdered Pastor Benson.”

\---

While Melinda calls first a church employee to verify that the dove isn’t in Pastor Benson’s office, and then the police, Daisy and Jemma explain their theory to Hannah. “What?” Hannah asks, too shocked to cry. “Tobias the janitor murdered Jack?”

“We can’t say for sure,” Daisy says. “But we were able to verify that the dove isn’t in Benson’s office. It’s all pretty suspicious.”

“That’s horrible,” Hannah gasps. “Tobias was a little odd, but I never thought he would do anything like this.” She turns wide, frightened eyes to Jemma. “You said he’s had feelings for me all this time? And he has _pictures_ of me?”

“I didn’t see any pictures,” Jemma says, “and all we have to go on is what Frank told Daisy and Melinda, but he did tell me himself about his feelings for you, yes.”

“Oh.” Hannah looks distraught. “So he must have thought that Jack and I...oh no, is this all my fault?”

“No,” Daisy says quickly. “If he killed Benson, he made the choice to do that, for whatever reason. You aren’t responsible for what he does.”

“Maybe I should have tried harder to befriend him,” Hannah says with a sniffle. “I know most people didn’t like him, and he could be a little quiet and strange, but that doesn’t mean...oh, I’m sorry.” She grabs a tissue and blots at her eyes. “I feel like I’ve failed everyone.”

“You haven’t,” Jemma says firmly. “Like Daisy said, Tobias is a grown man, able to make his own choices. Just because he had feelings for you doesn’t excuse bad behavior and _especially_ not murder.”

Hannah seems about to say something else when, suddenly, there’s a pounding on the door. “Hello?” asks a gruff voice that makes Jemma react much like an ostrich, and cover her head suddenly. “Hannah?” Luke barks just once, a warning.

Hannah glances at them wildly. “What do I do?”

“Don’t open the door,” Melinda says, stepping back into the room. “Don’t move.”

“Hannah?” asks the disembodied voice on the other side of the door that belongs to Tobias Ford. “It’s Tobias, from church. Uh, the janitor? I, I’m sorry to bother you so close to dinner. I can smell the pasta you’re cookin’ in there. Can I come in for just a sec?”

Hannah seems frozen to the spot.

“I, I just have somethin’ to tell you. Maybe I shoulda told you over the phone, I dunno. It’s kinda important.”

Finally, Hannah stands up and walks slowly toward the door, despite Daisy and Jemma’s frantic gestures indicating she should remain in place. Melinda sighs and pulls out her gun, rarely brandished and even more rarely used.

“Hello?” Hannah’s voice shakes as she calls through the door. “Tobias, what are you doing here?”

“I just have somethin’ to tell you,” he says, sounding equally nervous. “Can I come in, please?”

Hannah opens the door just slightly, and Melinda slips to the other side of the door, waiting in case he tries to force himself inside. Daisy and Jemma retreat out of sight, careful to stay at least a few feet apart at all times. “Hi, Tobias,” Hannah says, giving him a wobbly smile. “Uh, I don’t usually let men into my apartment if I’m here alone.”

“Oh. Well, uh, that’s okay, I can just tell you here.” Tobias audibly swallows. “Hannah, I, I think you’re pretty great, d’you maybe wanna go out for coffee or something?”

Hannah is quiet for a long moment. Finally she says flatly, “You killed Jack, didn’t you, Tobias? You thought we were together and you were jealous and you killed him.”

“What?” Tobias’ voice is small and choked. “I-”

Melinda gently pushes Hannah out of the way and points her gun at Tobias. “You got about two seconds before I fire,” she says. “And I know how to make it seem like you were never here.”

Tobias raises his hands immediately, looking both terrified and angry. “I don’t have to say nothin’ to you!”

“Tobias!” Hannah calls. “Please, we just want to know what happened.”

What happened was this:

Tobias Ford, being a social outcast in all aspects of his life, is not used to kindness. So, when one Hannah Hutchins began treating him the same way she did everyone else (that is to say, as a human being deserving of respect), he unfortunately interpreted it as potential romantic interest. He has spent the past year and a half daydreaming of the life he always felt he deserved, with a girl who loved him, but he has not been able to gather the courage to speak to her beyond cursory greetings. He would have been content simply to watch her from afar, taking the occasional boundary-crossing picture, had it not been for the social media post he’d seen from her at Christmas. 

It was a picture of the dove statue, in its place of honor on her bookshelf, with the caption _Thanks so much to @pastorjackbenson for my favorite Christmas gift! So good to have this constant reminder of God’s love <3_. Tobias recognized the statue immediately, as he went into Pastor Benson’s office every day to empty his trash. 

From that point on, he watched Hannah even more closely. He saw the way she lit up when Pastor Benson was around (as one does when one is happy to see a friend), the way Pastor Benson frequently ate with her (as is sometimes necessary when working late), and the way that the rest of the congregation talked about them (in Life’s Way Way of Life, as in all churches, gossip spreads as naturally as moss in a forest). One morning, he saw Hannah go into Pastor Benson’s office and close the door behind her, and he was suddenly seized with a terrible certainty that Pastor Benson was a part of Hannah’s life in a way that he would never be. 

Since then he has nursed a quiet hope that perhaps his reluctant roommate Frank might be able to oust Pastor Benson from power, as Frank was constantly talking about all the changes that would need to take place for Life’s Way to become a truly successful church. Perhaps, if Pastor Benson was forced out and a new pastor took his place, Hannah would turn to a certain janitor for comfort. But these hopes were dashed when Frank had quit the church in a huff. And so, Tobias Ford has had to take matters into his own hands - matters, in this case, being a stone dove statue which he bludgeoned the pastor to death with and then stole as he fled.

Tobias has begun to cry as he relays the tale to his unexpected audience. Hannah, who is also crying, whispers, “You didn’t have to kill him, Tobias. He didn’t do anything.”

“But he- but you-” Tobias hiccups. 

“We weren’t together,” Hannah says, her voice getting a bit louder. “You were wrong, Tobias. You were wrong and you were afraid, and you listened to that fear and you made a choice. And I feel sorry for you, but that doesn’t excuse what you did.”

“I’m sorry,” Tobias whimpers. “Please, please forgive me?”

Hannah steps forward so that she can look Tobias in the eyes. “Only God can forgive you, not me,” she says. “And maybe He will. But don’t ask me to.”

Tobias doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, as the approaching sirens become louder.

\---

Their drive back to the Pie Hole is solemn. “I can’t imagine what he was feeling,” Jemma says, after miles of silence. “I’m not saying he was right to do it, of course, but to be so swept up in your own negative emotions that you would murder someone…”

“I got swept up in my negative emotions and kept you alive,” Daisy points out. “And killed the funeral director because of it.” 

“The funeral director who was pickpocketing corpses?” Melinda says dryly. “What a loss.”

“It _was_ ,” Daisy insists. “How am I different from Tobias? He wanted Hannah to love him so he killed someone. I wanted Jemma to be alive again for good so I chose to let someone else die.” She does not mention Jemma’s father’s death, but it sits unspoken on her tongue like an untreated wart.

“Well, I think actively choosing to beat someone to death is a bit different than allowing magic to exchange one dead person for a living person,” Jemma points out. “Also, I’m determined to make the most of my second life. I’m already helping the two of you with cases, aren’t I?”

“For a certain definition of ‘help,’” Melinda admits. Jemma beams over at her. 

“I guess that’s true,” Daisy says, sounding very unsure.

When they arrive back at the Pie Hole, Jemma follows Daisy into the kitchen and watches her start on one of the last pies of the day, leaning on the other end of the island counter. “You’re not the same as him, you know,” Jemma says. 

“I’m not sure,” Daisy protests, rolling out pie crust. “That guy literally killed someone because he wanted a girl to love him. And it didn’t work, and now he has to live with that.”

“The difference is that you didn’t act out of fear,” Jemma points out. “A bit of selfishness, perhaps, and love, but not fear.” 

“Yeah, but what’s the difference, really? What’s love but selfishly wanting someone to share your feelings for them and fear that they might choose to leave you?”

Jemma gives her such a long, searching look that Daisy feels uncomfortable and turns away to grab a box of rotten cherries out of the secret back room. “It’s the ability to choose, I think,” Jemma says when she returns with a box full of perfectly ripe cherries. “That’s the difference. You brought me back to life, but you didn’t make me stay. I chose that.”

“And you could choose to leave.”

“I could. But I don’t think I will.” Jemma grabs a box of plastic wrap and, tearing off a piece, holds it up to give Daisy a long kiss through it. “I’m very happy to be alive again, Daisy. And I’m happy to be here with you.”

Daisy smiles, letting herself enjoy the peace of this moment. “Yeah, I’m happy too.”

Outside the kitchen, Daniel watches this moment between the two. His disappointment and hurt rear up inside him like a mistreated tiger at a circus, and he allows himself a moment of self-pity before leaning down to give Lincoln a firm scratch behind the ears. He does not fully understand the strange relationship between the girl he has been in love with for two years and the girl who is supposed to be dead, but he can see how much they mean to each other. He decides to continue looking into Lonely Tourist Jemma Simmons, the very-much-not-dead girl, at a later date.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm bad and rarely credit the source of my titles, but this one comes from [a song](https://mariancall.bandcamp.com/track/the-piemaker) by my beloved Marian Call, inspired by the show itself. Give it a listen!


End file.
